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His inability to protect her tore at his insides. He carefully stepped closer, knowing that it was a danger zone— her in a towel and crying. She was his weakness, and he couldn’t handle her seemingly so vulnerable and hurt. “We’ll get it figured out.”
“No. We won’t. No one takes this seriously.” She covered her face. Bishop gathered her into his arms. Her skin was semi-damp and warm from the shower, and Ella smelled like soap. She leaned into his arms, dropping her hands, and clung to him as though no one had hugged her in ages.
“You’re getting worked up. It’s fine. Get some shut-eye. It’ll seem less overwhelming in the morning.” He kissed the top of her head, wishing he could dissolve her fear. If only there were a way to drop-kick away every bad memory, every fear. He wanted to just absorb her pain and, God, he wanted to keep her close.
Shit. He was in deep. The tighter she held onto him, the more he needed to make it right.
She burrowed against him, her wet hair dampening his shirt. “I don’t want to sleep.”
He stifled a groan. Now wasn’t the time to follow through on every urge. Never was actually the time. But with her rubbing and swaying against him, this was painful.